Missed Stop
by Valerie E. Mackin
Summary: The story of one girl's first up close and personal encounter with one of the brothers on a late-night train ride. The first story in my Boondock Saints OC story arc. Re-edited and updated, though nothing drastic.


Finally, _finally_, I'm at the end of another long day at work. Actually, it's the end of my second double shift in two days, and I'm beat. I don't have much to look forward to when I get home, either. After all the doubles I've been pulling lately, I could probably afford to get take-out tonight, but I feel like it's kind of sad that cheap Chinese food is the highlight of my day.

Okay, if I'm being completely honest with myself, it's one of the _two_ highlights of my day.

I've ridden this same dingy, nasty subway to and from work for five years now. I've seen homeless people camping out, I've seen muggings, I think I've seen what could've been the start of a serious gang fight (luckily it was right before my stop, so I hightailed it off the car just in time); I've seen people having sex so many times on these stupid cars, it's enough to make me depressed about the sex I'm _not_ having.

Sigh.

For the last two months, though, I've also seen _him_. He's no Greek god or anything, but good grief, is he easy on the eyes: short-cropped, not-quite-blonde-or-brown hair that screams "I just had the most amazing screw and didn't bother to groom myself" (I mentioned the lack of sex, right?), shadowy stubble along his jaw that I just know would feel so coarse on my face…probably buff my skin red and deliciously raw and…

And his smile. The first time I saw him, we made eye contact (a big no-no on the subway), and he gave me this lop-sided half-smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling, and he nodded before taking a seat across and a few feet up from me. It's ridiculous, but I felt dizzy for a minute and had to look away. Not a typical reaction for me, and quite a heady experience, if it's not too melodramatic to say so. I don't get dizzy anymore (mostly), but I sure as hell look forward to seeing him. And, of course, I always look forward to the inevitable fantasies that follow. He doesn't ride every single day I work, but when he does, I have to do my best not to stare.

Okay, I have to do my best to not be _caught _staring. I've done pretty well, so far.

I'm so tired tonight I can't even keep my eyes open while I wait to see if Mr. Wonderful will show up. The rocking of the subway car is hypnotic, and I keep nodding off despite the inherent dangers of doing so. Every time I doze off, though, the train makes a stop or jerks or something, and I jolt awake in a half-panick. I should've gotten some caffeine before I left work, but I just didn't think about it. Being brain-numb will do that to you.

Apparently, though, not all stops are equally jarring. I have no idea how many I've slept through, but one second I'm the only one on the car and my chin is headed downhill again, and the next the train is pulling away from the station with a bone-rattling jerk, my head snaps up, and Mr. Wonderful is _right there_, directly across from, and staring right at me.

"Holy shit! What the fuck, man?!" Oh, that was…that was definitely the opening line I've been planning for all these weeks, let me tell you. My heart feels like it's going to thud cheerfully right out of my throat, and I can't decide if I'm more startled or pissed. I mean, I don't know this guy from Adam. For all I know, he could be some sort of freak serial killer or something, and now he's staring at me? While I sleep. How fucked up is that?

I turn away from him, making a concerted effort to gather my scrambled thoughts and slow my racing pulse. I'm just making headway on calming myself down when I hear him chuckling. A hot rush of embarrassment creeps up my neck, and my eyebrows knit together as I frown through the window at the walls rushing past outside the train.

I know I've overreacted, but apparently that's how I respond to his presence. Maybe I'm allergic and I just have a really bizarre reaction; it would definitely explain why my lungs feel constricted and my heart rate won't chill the fuck out.

I take a deep breath, let it out slowly, and turn back to Mr. Wonderful, forcing myself suck up my anxiety and meet his eyes. He grins cheekily at me, one of his legs crossed over the other, leaning back with arms spread across the seats around him as if he doesn't have a care in the world.

Well, of course he doesn't. No one is staring at _him_ while he sleeps in a subway car.

"Y'alright there, lass? I didn't want to wake ya, see, y'looked so peaceful." Cocky; absolute and without a doubt cocky, but did I honestly expect any less? The much more girly part of my brain registers the Irish brogue with more than a little weakening of my mental knees; I didn't think he could get much more attractive, but I am definitely not complaining.

I blink a few times and stretch, absorbing this new information and trying to wake up so I can properly enjoy the moment. Two months I've been working up the courage to even say hello to this guy, and this is my grand introduction to him: snoring and cursing. So of course my voice comes out in a bumbling, squeaking rush.

"I didn't mean to freak out at you. I didn't mean to fall asleep, either, too much freaky shit happens on this subway, you know. You just…you startled me is all, and so I…panicked, and…yeah." Wow. Witty. Captivating. Rambling, even. Way to go, tiger. I think my verbal communication skills might've just embarrassed themselves all the way back to puberty.

"Well, lass, if it's yer naptime, I'll be happy to keep an eye on ya while ya sleep. Keep all the bad guys away so's you can get some decent shut eye." His eyes crinkle as his smile deepens, and he sits forward a little, dropping his crossed leg to the floor and putting his elbows on his knees. He cups his chin in his hands, the picture of mischievous innocence as he bats his eyelashes at me.

A giddy urge to laugh steals over me, and I bite my lip to hold it back. Why has it taken me so long to talk to this guy? He's obviously charming and witty and sexy and…oh, yeah. Because I want to jump his bones.

Forgot about that.

The second that thought enters my head, I freeze in mortification, and I feel a hot flush creep up my neck and onto my face. There's no way he can actually read my thoughts, but from the cocky smirk spread over his face, I have a moment where I doubt my assuredness of the privacy of my thoughts.

"Whatcha thinkin' 'bout over there, lass? Y'seem t'be blushin' a bit…I'm not botherin' ye, am I?"

So, now I'm hot _and_ bothered. Well, in for a penny, right?

My brain reminds me of the utmost importance of breathing, and I steel myself to speak with coherence and something resembling coolness this time. I wonder briefly if I have the nerve to actually do what I've been fantasizing about for the last month and twenty-nine days, but then reality punches me right in the confidence, and I hesitate. Should probably start with some small talk.

"I...uh…no, no, I'm fine…er…you're fine, I mean." Does pathetic even describe me anymore? I wonder if someone can be a verbal cripple, because this is beyond lame.

"So, y'think I'm fine, do ye?" And of course he's not going to make this easy. No, that would be way too romantic and storybook-ish. I chafe a little at his teasing, though; what right does he have to sit there and make fun of me? This guy creeps on me in a subway car without bothering to wake me up (I mean, I could've missed my stop or something, he doesn't know), and now he's going to tease me when I'm already obviously embarrassed?

"Actually, I've been wanting to ask you something," I retort, scowling in his direction. He reclines against the back of the seat, and I'm immediately distracted by the fascinating and mouth-watering way the gray t-shirt he's wearing under his coat stretches and wrinkles across his chest and stomach.

Focus, girl.

"Y'mean in th' two months ye've been starin' at me on the train here, too timid t'talk or anythin', there's actually somethin' ye've wanted to say? Ask me anythin' ye like, lass, I'm here t'help."

Are you, now? Because I can think of a few things you could…Damn it! Must focus!

He's provoking me, not actually being rude but definitely goading me into making the first move. I do _not_ like being the initiator, that's not turned out well for me so far. But with him, I don't know… He pisses me off a little, and that makes it easier.

Well, if I'm going down, I'm might as well go down fighting.

The flush in my face fires up from a low to a medium flame, and I have the distinct feeling my skin is just about the shade of a ripe tomato. "I wanted to…well, you see, I've noticed you…riding on the subway most nights, and…I…wanted to…there was something…If you could...Could you stand up for a minute, please?" There. I didn't die, the world didn't end, and he didn't run away screaming.

Yet.

"Mind tellin' me why, lass?"

Hell, yes, I do; _obviously_ I do or I wouldn't have so many issues just spitting it out. I am going to fuck this up, I know I am, but I have to try, right? I glance self-consciously around the car, even though I know no one else is there, and set my bag on the seat next to me. Standing, my knees shaking, I take the few steps that separate us until I'm maybe two feet away from him, and I motion for him to stand. I don't think I've ever been this nervous in my life.

He stares up at me, amused and skeptical, and I raise my eyebrows at him. Maybe I've made a huge mistake, maybe I'm misreading signals, but I'm sure as hell not backing down now. I mean, I've walked all this way, might as well dive in.

"You did say I could ask you anything; you claimed you were here to help. So…stand up and help already."

Still amused, he stands, shrugging out of his coat and dropping it on the bench. He reaches up to grip the bar over our heads as he gazes down at me. This close, I can smell cigarettes, alcohol, him…Oh, God…he's so close and so warm. I blink hard and force myself to take slow, steady breaths. I am painfully aware that he's leaning just a little closer now as we both sway with the motion of the train. I feel like if I reached for him now the air would be as thick and tense as shoving my way through Jell-O.

"Y' want to compare heights or see how I smell, or somethin' lass?" If smirking could be a tone, his voice would be dripping with it. He's almost laughing, obviously doesn't think I'm actually going to do anything, and now I _know_ he's challenging me.

Challenge accepted.

The train rocks just then, and I stumble into him. His free arm reaches out automatically to steady me, and even while I'm having cute little "chivalry isn't dead" thoughts, I feel compelled to take advantage of the situation. I let my momentum carry me straight into him, and I reach up, tangling my fingers in his hair and pulling his face down to mine. Before I can talk myself out of this insanity (not that I'd win that conversation), I close my eyes, steel myself, and kiss him hard right on the lips. He tenses for a second in shock, then his arm tightens around me, and his mouth is pressing back against mine.

My arms snake around his neck almost of their own accord, and suddenly I'm pressed against the entire heated, rock-hard of him. I can't seem to support myself anymore, as my knees have gone strangely dysfunctional. His tongue slides between my lips, twisting with mine, and I'm lightheaded with pleasure, probably from all my blood rushing south. I have no idea how long it is until we pull back. I feel a little dizzy and very far away from the grimy subway car.

His forehead is pressed against mine, his eyes closed and arms still tight around me as he says, "Was that yer question, lass?" I nod, not trusting my voice to be functional yet. The only things keeping me standing around are his arms, which seem to be supporting most of my weight just now.

But what if…what if I was wrong, what if it was bad, what if my breath stinks, what if…I mean, it's been so long since I've kissed anyone, I've probably forgotten how; not everything can be like riding a bike. He returns the nod, lets out a long breath, and then:

"I don't think I quite caught what ye meant by that. D'ye think y'could repeat it for me so's I c'n answer ye proper-like?"

He's kissing me again, and I swear even the rumbling and creaking of the subway fades away. His other hand releases the bar overhead, he's pulling me even closer, and I forget why it is I thought breathing was so important a couple of minutes ago. He tastes incredible, strange, and, oh…

"Need a sec, there, girl?" Okay, apparently that last "oh" might've been out loud. I'd be embarrassed, but I'm too busy shutting him up to worry about it. There are so many more important things his mouth should be doing. Luckily for me, he's taking his cue rather well, and his tongue and teeth seek out the more sensitive areas of my ear. I don't even know what to do with my hands, I almost don't care, except I want to feel more of him, see if all of his skin is a smooth as the bit peeking out from the neck of his shirt.

His lips move from my ear to my neck, and I'm lost. One of his hands grasps the back of my head, tilting my neck so he can find a better angle of approach, and his other slides between my shirt and the waistband of my jeans, running burning fingers over my cool skin. The sensation is so unexpected I arch against him suddenly, hissing as a jolt of sheer lust runs through my entire body.

"D'ye…d'ye need me…t'stop?" This asked as his fingers continue exploring, his tongue is still tasting, and all I want to do is rip his shirt off and see if the rest of his is just as tan. Seriously, who else in Boston is this golden?

"God, no!" I'm about ready to freaking climb the man, and he's offering to stop? "Don't you dar!"

And suddenly I'm sandwiched between him and wall at the end of the car, and his mouth is on mine again, and all I'm not worried about him stopping anymore. His tongue curls against mine, and now both his hands are moving under the hem of my shirt. A tiny voice in the back corner of my mind wonders whether I would even notice if someone else got on the car. Then his hands brush the undercurve of my breasts, and my mind goes blissfully blank again. His mouth leaves mine, only to move over my jaw and down my neckline. This…this is my weakness, and I shiver in response.

I reach down, fighting the urge to literally start purring, and drag my nails slowly up his back, bringing the bottom edge of his shirt along for the ride. His tongue falters on my neck a moment, his fingers go still on my ribs just below my breasts, and he shivers, then I feel his lips against my ear.

"Y'mind doin' that again, lass?"

He pulls his hands from under my shirt, and I'm about to protest until they reappear, firmly gripping my ass. His fingers squeeze hard, once, then suddenly lifts me up, and I'm startled into wrapping my legs around him just to keep my balance. He sees the hesitation in my eyes and pauses for a moment, his face an inch from mine, both of our chests heaving.

I can feel his pulse with every throb of the bulge in his jeans as it presses against what is now the hottest part of me (I thought the blush on my face was hot five minutes ago…just goes to show perspective). Every time the train sways, he's pushed a little bit harder against me, and my eyelids flutter as a tiny whimper escapes my lips. Ten minutes ago, the rocking was putting me to sleep, but now I'm about as far from that as I think I'll ever be.

He grins and presses light kisses to my lips. "Don't wanna move too fast fer ye, lass. I'll give ye a second t'catch yer breath, there." He is one cocky son of a bitch, but I'm not particularly in the mood to complain about it just now.

In response, I lean down a little from my newly elevated height and press my own light kiss to his lips, adding a light , teasing flick of my tongue. I pull back quickly and shake my head when he tries to deepen the kiss, but as soon as he pulls his face back, I plant an identical kiss on the corner of his mouth. I move down along his jaw line to where the tendons in his neck are tense and the pulse is visible under his skin. I place a soft, gentle kiss right at the juncture of his neck and shoulder, then let my teeth slowly, lightly scrape his skin, making him shiver again. I wait until he relaxes a little, then I latch on to the spot with lips, teeth, and tongue, leaving what I hope will be an epic hickey he can brag about in the morning.

What can only be described as a growl starts in his chest and rumbles up his throat, and I'm distracted from my task when he grinds his hips roughly against mine. My nails make a return visit to his back, and I'm sure there will be at least a little blood as I let out a little whine of pleasure. His mouth returns to mine, and the kisses are hungry and desperate now as he grinds against me. I roll my hips back as much as I can, trying to let the motion of the car help, but I've never been in this situation, hell, even this position, and I'm more than a little unsure of myself again.

I want him so badly right now I could scream (I nearly have a couple of times, at this point), and I'm tempted to just rip all of our clothes off, and to hell with worrying about covering back up later. Luckily, Mr. Wonderful seems to get the message. Still holding me up with one hand, bracing me against the wall of the car, he reaches between the two of us and begins working on one of our zippers, I'm not sure whose. There's a bit of a delay when metal teeth snag fabric, and then reality (aka, the subway car) jerks back into motion suddenly (when did we stop in the first place?), and an announcement comes over the speaker.

Shit.

"What stop did they just say?" I'm panting, nearly crying with lust at this point, and I don't want to ask. I don't want to move from this spot, don't really care if I miss my stop or not, but I do know that not too many stops from mine is a hospital, and even this late at night there will be several people getting on the train. An audience is the last thing I want right now. I may be reckless and brave tonight, but I'm not _that_ crazy.

He sighs, letting out a deep breath, and I can physically feel his regret, but before he can answer, the announcement comes on again. Yep. Missed my stop.

"I…uh…don't want to stop, but…um…ohh…(don't know whether to curse or bless this broke-down, piece-of-crap subway) a lot of people are going to get on in a couple of stops, and…uh…I don't really want…to…you know…um…in front of strangers…well…strangers other than you." There's that sparkling wit of mine.

My own stranger grins, gently bumping his forehead against mine. "We could jus' be real quick-like about it, if y'know what I mean." I make a face at him and poke him hard in the ribs. He puts on a ridiculously overdone grimace and gently sets me down, making sure I have my footing before he lets go of me. "Kiddin' wit'ye, lass, just kiddin'."

Beyond disappointed, I disentangle myself from him and do my best to regain what little equilibrium I had to begin with. I take a few shaky steps back to my seat as I attempt to straighten the rumpled mess of my clothing and pick up my bag, I work hard to not let regret show on my face. Did I just completely ruin everything, or what?

Without warning, his arms snake around me from behind, and he pulls me down against him. I let out a rather dignified squawk and flail gracefully, dropping my purse on the floor and landing in an elegant sprawl across his lap.

"Me name's Connor, by th' way, in case ye didn't catch it before." My stomach twists a little at the reminder that I've just made out with someone who's name I didn't even freaking know…then it untwists when my libido decides it was totally worth it. Then I realize he's still talking, and I put a stranglehold on my inner monologue.

"Would've been nice to hear ye moanin' it, but th' past is th' past, as me Ma always says." I grin because he's behind me and can't see it, so it won't encourage him. "So, lass, did ye miss yer stop after all?"

"Yeah, but I'm not too worried about it…I just…I wish we didn't have to…well…stop." I sigh, leaning back against him, reveling in his radiating body heat, breathing in the smell of him. Maybe the train could rock me back to sleep right here. Unfortunately, the rocking is now against…well, him, so it's not exactly restful. I think stimulating would be the word I'm looking for. I just need to think of cold showers.

Connor begins slowly, so lightly, running his fingers up and down the lengths of my arms, across my shoulders, over my collar bone, up and down my neck, until my breathing is coming in short, shallow gasps. I can feel his cock pressing against me again through the fabric of his jeans with each bump of the car, and I moan softly, though I refuse to say his name like I know he wants me to.

Cold showers, cold showers, cold showers…

"Y' know, lass, we don't necessarily have to stop altogether." His lips are on my neck, I can feel his words drifting steamy and moist against my skin more than I can actually hear them. His hands are moving lower now, skimming the top of my breasts, then the bottom, slowly massaging circles around them, but never actually touching them. I moan a little louder, pressing back and rocking my ass against his lap in time to the rhythm of the train. Finally, after what feels like forever, his hands are on my breasts properly, kneading them, pinching each nipple, then moving back to wider circles before focusing on the center again, over and over until my nails are nearly cutting through the denim covering his thighs. I want to scream, and I'm almost gasping as I try hard not to moan his name.

This position feels so much more exposed than we just were, and I'm self-conscious again, even though we're still alone on the car. My legs are spread wide over his lap, my breasts thrust out against his hands as I roll my hips on his. I'm embarrassed, but the exposure turns me on even more, and I'm moving with more force against him now, grinding and reaching down for him, when suddenly—

He stops.

His hands leave my breasts, and he gently places his fingers on top of my thighs, effectively stilling me on his lap against my will. I'm so close now it's painful, and the teasing motion of the car not helping. I whip my head around at him, sure I've done something wrong, but his smile is apologetic instead of teasing this time.

"Don't kill me, lass, I swear I'm not baitin' ye…It's only that yer right about all those people about t'get on in a stop or two, and I was…well, I thought since ye missed yer stop ye might be wantin' t'know that I get off at th' next stop. An' I was just wond'rin' (he's even hot when he's making fun of me…how does he _do_ that?)…I was wond'rin' if ye might want to be gettin' off wit' me, if ye know what I mean."

I let out a slow breath, trying hard not to explode. I take a minute to really think about everything that's happened in the last twenty or so minutes. I've just made out and very willingly nearly had sex with an almost complete stranger (a completely hot stranger) in a very public place, and I'm running on eight hours sleep for the last three days. However, I do have the next three days off work and absolutely nothing else to look forward to. And dear God, he's so hot. So…

Why the hell not?

Looks like I'll be getting off at the next stop.

_Author's Note: This story is re-edited and updated now, changed around a little but nothing too drastic from the first posting. Not only is the sequel done, but several more stories from this arc as well. Check out my profile for a more complete listing of stories from this arc. Thanks so much for reading, and please take just a moment to let me know what you think. I appreciated reviews so very much._


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